


Looking Through A Glass Onion

by nwspaprtaxis



Series: Post-Movie [1]
Category: Across the Universe (2007)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Fireworks, Fourth of July, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Max Carrigan, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Protective Lucy Carrigan, Protective Sadie, Protective Siblings, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-24
Updated: 2009-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The lyrics make absolutely no sense; but, then, neither does this.....<i> Lucy comforts a Post-War Max during the Fourth of July.</i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Through A Glass Onion

**Author's Note:**

> _**A/N:**_ This is my first-ever venture into ficcing. A kazillion thanks and an epic hug to **LaylaBinx** for beta'ing and cheerleading. That said, a little background is needed. In this fic, everyone is back living happily together in Sadie's apartment and it takes place in the same post-film universe as my other fics, [What's Above The Neck](http://archiveofourown.org/works/620560) and [The Only Thing That Makes Sense Anymore](http://archiveofourown.org/works/623761) although none are really connected and are intended to be independent of one another. 
> 
> According to my interpretation, the movie takes place Autumn 1967-Spring 1969 with Max beginning his service sometime in the Summer of 1968, returning in early Spring 1969… My Max is also twenty-three, since I figure he’s approximately two or so years older than Lucy and didn’t quite strike me as a Freshman. 
> 
> In terms of my post-film timeline, **Glass Onion** occurs first, in July 1969, some time after the rooftop concert at the end of the movie (I'm not exactly sure what month it was when Jude sang _All You Need Is Love_ , but judging by everyone's clothes, it seemed to be mid-to-late-spring, which gives you a sense of the timeline I am using). **What's Above The Neck** takes place roughly in August / September of the same year. **The Only Thing That Makes Sense Anymore** is set in early January 1970.
> 
>  
> 
>  _ **Disclaimer:**_ Do not own. Am not making a profit. I'm just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Julie Taymor and Co. and all that Yada Yada. Also, the title is from the song of the same name, which is owned by the Beatles and Apple Records and which I have no hope of procuring the rights to.

"Where's Max?" I ask Sadie, worry already sliding into my voice as I enter the empty flat. "He's not up on the roof like everyone else."

Sadie pushes her hair back with one hand, silver bangles and rings glittering in the light. "Hell if I know." She shrugs, "I haven't seen him; there's no one here. Maybe he slipped off with one of the girls? One of Pru's friends from the circus?" She offers half-helpfully, taking a drag on her cannabis.

I shake my head negatively. I might have believed that once and never given it another thought — a lifetime ago. Before Max was drafted. Before Uncle Sam deemed him 1-A and fit for duty. Before he was shipped off to Southeast Asia to fight in a war he didn't ask for. _Before..._

I start, breaking out of my train of thought before I can finish them. "No. Max wouldn't do that; not this year, not after last year..."

Last year, Max was a world away, Jude had been repatriated to England for being here without a Visa, Sadie and JoJo were gone, Prudence had run off to God-Only-Knows-Where, and I was still living at Paco's...

I smile, but it doesn't feel real and I get the sense that Sadie knows it. I force myself to continue, to keep my tone light. "Not when it's Jude's first Fourth-of-July as a legal immigrant."

"And especially not when we have the best seats in Greenwich Village for fireworks," Sadie cuts into my thoughts with a broad grin, exhaling smoke.

A firecracker, followed by a smattering of rapid-fire pops, goes off over our heads, making us jump.

"Morons," Sadie mutters, her voice empty of fire, making me smile. I know she won't do anything about them. "Max's a big boy; he'll be fine. He can take care of himself," the singer continues, crossing the room to me. She pats me on the shoulder. "You can't keep hovering over him. That's probably why the boy slunk off—there's only so much smothering he can take."

The older woman's insight stuns me into silence as the faint strains of someone singing reaches my ears through the open window. It is Jude, screaming drunkenly:

_I told you about the walrus and me, man_  
_You know that we're as close as can be, man_

Any other time, that would've sent me into uncontrollable giggles, "But..."

"I know you're worried about Max," Sadie cuts in gently, "but try to stop mothering. Sometimes the guy just needs his space. He's going to be okay. Now turn around, girlfriend, go to the roof, and listen to your boy's song. Max'll show up, you'll see. He always does. Who else would he steal silk shirts from?" Sadie flashes a wicked grin before swaying out the room.

As I hear her ascend the stairs, I open the refrigerator and pull out a couple of cans of beer to take back up with me, flinching as a firework explodes overhead. I place my hand on the doorknob to join the rooftop celebration, when I hear a low whimper.

I hesitate, not sure if I had imagined the cry, or if it had even originated from inside the apartment. I set the beers on the table and turn around. There is no one there. The apartment is completely, eerily deserted; the silence left behind by the absence of Sadie's half-stoned hippie friends and bandmates is disturbing, as though someone had died and sucked the life out of the room, leaving only an empty shell, the remaining clutter the only evidence anyone lived and breathed here.

A series of poppers go off in the street below, followed by the not-too-distant blast of another firecracker. Again, the odd, strangled sound comes, pulling me into the Whatever Room. The sound quiets, but doesn't cease as I follow it to the narrow closet.

"Hello?" I call softly through the door, remembering the time I had done so for Prudence. But this is not the lighthearted cajoling of asking the girl to come out to play.

There is no answer except some snuffling, as though someone is sobbing and is trying not to be heard. Dread settles into my stomach like a block of ice, cold and immovable. "Max?" I whisper.

"Go 'Way," my brother's voice sounds thick and muffled.

"Are you okay?"

There is nothing but silence and then a hiss and a boom as the fireworks begin in earnest.

"Max?" I place my hand, palm flat against the door, dread turning into fear. I swallow it back, refusing to let my big brother know how much he scares me. He was the one who always comforted my fears, up until the day he left for Vietnam — _"Luce." He grabs me by my upper arms, forcing me to face him, just like he did that day at the protest. "Luce. Luce, it's going to be okay. Alright, maybe I won't learn how to box, but I'm going to be just fine. Nothing is going to happen to me. I'll come back, I promise. I'm not Daniel. They do everything they can to protect the guys over there. And maybe LBJ will call the whole thing off while I'm there and I'll come home early," He says rapidly, his words tumbling over one another, as he pulls me roughly to him in a tight embrace, pressing his lips to my forehead..._ — And now, in some twist of karma or fate, it is my turn to be the protective one. "Max? It's me, Lucy. Please answer me."

There are long heartbeats of silence, broken by another burst of noise outside. Then: "Just go. I don't wanna you see me like this."

I feel tears smart the back of my eyes. It's not his words that bothers me as much as how young and defeated and terrified he sounds. The voice on the other side of the wall is that of a child, not my twenty-three-year-old brother. I want to break down the door and hold him, waving away his fears. But, I don't — I am his sister, not his mother or lover. To do so would shatter whatever fragile shred of pride he had managed to salvage.

Another breaking firework makes me flinch and I have an idea... I swallow hard, steadying myself. "Max..." I exhale and let a fraction of my fear in my voice, "I'm really scared. The fireworks are so loud. Please open the door and let me in."

I hear a click and the doorknob turns, the door opening ever so slightly.

Max is sitting on the floor, back against the side wall, hugging his knees. A coat brushes against the side of his head. He doesn't look at me, but from his profile I can tell he doesn't believe my lie in the least, but he is willing to use it to retain his dignity. "Come in," he snaps, curling up even more compactly to allow room for me, "and shut the door."

I slip through the crack, stepping over his long legs, and shut the door as I crouch in front of him, knees touching his, before he can change his mind.

Inside the tiny, dark space, the air is hot and stifling and for a moment I am worried we'll both asphyxiate, but Max is more important than suffocation at this point. A bead of sweat rolls down my back and I ignore it. I reach upwards fumbling for the cord to the freestanding lightbulb.

"Leave it," Max growls. "No lights."

"Okay. We don't have to have lights," I whisper softly and evenly, lowering my hand, Sadie's words are still fresh and echoing, but I cannot leave Max either, not now, not when he's so vulnerable. So I remain crouched before my brother, waiting for him to take initiative. It is enough that I've pushed my way into Max's personal bubble without provoking him further.

"Why didn't you just go to Jude if you're so scared of a bunch of damn fireworks?" Max says truculently after a long pause, his voice hard and angry, dripping bitterness and sarcasm in the blackness. I cannot read his expression, only hear his voice. "I'm sure he'll give you cuddles and kisses until it's all done. He won't mind in the least." I overlook the malice in his words; I know he doesn't mean them.

"Because Jude's not my brother," I tell him simply. I feel like I should add something else, but my mind draws a blank so I leave it at that, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

Even though I can't see Max's expression, I know he is watching me. Another firework explodes and he cowers, pressing his forehead against his knees and covers his ears.

"Max?"

A series of crackles fizzle through the thin walls of the closet. "Oh, shit," a low whimpering curse escapes him as he begins to tremble.

Sounds of rapid-fire explosions ricochet off the walls, one on top of the other. _The Finale..._ Max curls even tighter on himself, rocking and muttering to himself, although whether he is cursing or praying, I am not really sure. I waver in a moment of indecision — to offer Max comfort and physical contact could be either detrimental or beneficial given his tentative hold on sanity.

Then, "I'm scared."

Without hesitation, I climb over him and perch precariously just behind him on the corner of an open box inexplicably filled with sports equipment, shoving coats and shirts aside to accommodate me. I push my hair over my shoulders, out of my way, and wrap my arms around my big brother's shoulders. "I'm here. You don't have to be afraid. You're safe. I'm going to protect you," I babble, my voice barely audible through the incessant fireworks. Max turns into my embrace, wrapping his thin arms around my waist in a viselike grip, and buries his face in my lap, still shuddering. I bend over, pressing my lips to the top of his head, rubbing my hands up and down his shoulders, hoping the soothing motion will break his shivers. Quietly, I begin to sing an old, nonsensical lullaby into his ear that our mother used to sing whenever we were frightened a long time ago to us, back when we were both children, hoping my voice would override the sound of the fireworks:

_Standing on the cast-iron shore, yeah_  
_Lady Madonna trying to make ends meet, yeah_  
_Looking through a glass onion_

I know the lyrics make absolutely no sense. But, then, neither does this. Huddling in a tiny, suffocatingly hot closet, my tank top plastering to my back like a second skin, with my terrified, broken older brother makes little more sense than fools on hills and walruses named Paul. "Looking through a glass onion," I repeat, barely aware that the explosions had ceased.

"Luce?" Max interrupts, his voice low and strained, as though it hurts to talk. "I'm all fucked up, am I?"

I shake my head, despite using that identical phrase several short months ago. "No."

"But I'm not who I used to be…"

"None of us are."

"You don't have freaking meltdowns over some fucking fireworks." The pain and shame palpable in his voice makes me wince and I am grateful it is too dark for him to see my expression even if he was looking at me.

"I wasn't in a war zone. I didn't almost die in the middle of enemy fire," I swallow, carding his greasy, unwashed hair, still cradling his head on my lap. My fingers brush against the scar at his temple, hidden by his honey-colored hair. "You were, you did, Max. You've seen things over there the rest of us couldn't possibly imagine. Any of us, with what you've been through, would be the same way — if not worse. I know I wouldn't be as half as stable as you are..."

He sucks in a ragged breath, his exhale hot and damp against my knee. "'S so hot…"

Wordlessly, I reach up and twist the handle, pushing the door open. A blast of fresh air, at least ten degrees cooler than the closet, slams me in the face. I don't open the door all the way; just enough for some light to enter the closet. "Hey," I coax my brother gently. "Look at me."

Max unfolds himself slowly, raising his head as though the movement takes more energy than he has the desire to expend at the moment. He looks like hell: pale, sweating, still shaken, dark half-moons beneath his bloodshot eyes. I kiss him gently on the forehead. "It's going to be okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm so tired," he says, slumping over again, head resting against my shoulder.

"Just get some rest; it's all over." I brush his long stringy hair from his face.

"Lucy?" Sadie's voice echoes through the apartment. "Max?" A moment later, she peers around the closet door, her red hair wild and curly around her face; even more so than usual, as though she had engaged in some dance of revelry or passion. Her forehead creases with worry when she finally takes in the sight of my brother. "Is he…? What do…?"

"Water," I tell her as Max begins to rouse. Sadie nods and a couple of seconds later, she is back with a glass of clear liquid, which she hands to me.

"Hey," I whisper gently, waking him more fully. "Do you want something to drink?"

He nods against my collarbone and exhales shakily as he sits back, leaning against the wall.

"Jesus, Max..." Sadie breathes. I don't dare catch Sadie's expression as I press the beverage in my brother's hand, making sure he doesn't drop the glass.

"That bad, huh?" Max gives her an exhausted, halfhearted smirk as he raises the glass to his lips, holding the glass with both hands, and sips at the cold water. A few minutes later, he hands the empty glass to me. "Thanks," he rasps, hanging his head.

Sadie exhales sharply. "C'mon, Max. You look like death warmed over, man. You should be in a bed, not a dirty closet." To my surprise, Max lets Sadie heave him to his feet and wrap an arm around his waist, supporting him upright.

Still carrying the empty glass, I reach the bedroom doorway in time to see Sadie ease Max onto the bed.

"Gosh," Sadie says in mock-disbelief as she reaches out and unbuttons Max's sweat-saturated red-and-orange-plaid Madras shirt. "I do believe you are wearing one of your own shirts for once…"

"I'd have borrowed one of yours, but they were all either pink or in the wash," Max retorts and I am momentarily taken aback at how quickly he is able to make the flip reply.

"You're a pervert." Grinning, Sadie moves her hands lower and unbuttons his khaki pants.

"I'm not the one taking off the pants of the opposite gender."

"True," Sadie concedes, slipping the garment off and chucking it after the shirt in the corner behind her.

"And I'm not the one who looks like I was screwing around on the roof under some fireworks." Max eyes Sadie's hair.

"That's enough, now, if you want that blue shirt in the morning." Sadie pushes him gently onto the sheet-covered mattress.

"Aw, Sadie…" Max mock-whines with a broad grin that reminds me of the one he used to wear during the days before he went off to fight, drawing a brief chuckle from the redhead.

"Try to get some sleep, man," Sadie cuts him off as she covers him with a flat sheet and pecks him on the cheek. "You need it," she adds before pivoting and departing in a blur of denim and silk and red hair, leaving Max and I behind.

I exhale slowly into the stunned silence that hangs between us, watching him. His eyes are shut and his chest is falling and rising evenly. "Goodnight, Max," I tell my brother as I turn to follow Sadie.

"Stay. Please," Max begs quietly from behind me.

I look back and see that all his defenses are gone; the front he managed to maintain for Sadie stripped away. He looks so small and lost curling up on his side in a fetal position on the bed. Placing the empty glass on the floor, I sit besides him on the edge of the mattress, my hip touching his knee. "What do you want me to do?" I ask helplessly, twisting my hands in my lap.

"Just… Just stay. Stay with me until I fall asleep," Max mumbles, not meeting my gaze. After several long moments of silence, he swallows forcefully. "Can… D'you mind singing that song mom used to sing?"

I nod, stretching out on the bed besides him, hand cupping his elbow,

_I told you about strawberry fields_  
_You know the place where nothing is real?_  
_Well, here's another place you can go_  
_Where everything flows_  
_Looking through the bent-backed tulips_  
_To see how the other half lives_  
_Looking through a glass onion..._

**Author's Note:**

>  _ **A/N2:**_ In the same vein as many of the songs in _Across the Universe_ , I re-imagined the song _Glass Onion_ to be completely different from the original version. Here, instead of the slightly-creepy pop/rock original, I envisioned Lucy's version of _Glass Onion_ to be more like a ballad or a lullaby to comfort Max. It would be considerably slowed down and be a much sweeter, gentler song in Evan Rachel Wood's range (think along the lines of how much Prudence's version of _I Want To Hold Your Hand_ had morphed from the original). However, Jude's drunken rendition is the pure and uncorrupted original.


End file.
